A Halloween in Edge
by BoomChick
Summary: Cloud hates Halloween. Especially when the universe decides to surprise him in the middle of his least-favorite night of the year.
1. An Arrival

**A/N: I intended this to be a seasonal one-shot, but the ending wouldn't close off, so instead it will be a series of short vignettes about... Well, you'll see what it's about. Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII, FFVIIAC, or anything related to Final Fantasy. Please support the official releases.

Cloud did not like Halloween. He did agree that Marlene was cute dressed in her witch's costume, and that Denzel made an excellent firefighter, but he refused to go out trick or treating with them. He knew what would await him.

It was the same thing every year for the last three years. The streets would be crowded with children wearing mock-ups of his face, and his clothes, and his hair, carrying fake versions of his sword, some of them caringly hand-made, and other mass-produced by some enterprising soul who'd realized there was a market for Cloud Strife Halloween costumes.

But the worst part was who they went trick or treating with. They never walked around with people dressed up as the other members of Avalanche, or Zack, or even Turks. They always ended up walking with kids dressed up as Sephiroth. The costumes were often disturbingly accurate, right down to Masamune, and sometimes even including contacts with slit pupils. They reeked of silver hair-spray, and the cheap pleather their costumes always seemed to be made out of.

And without a doubt, the kids dressed up as him ran around pretending to kill the ones dressed as Sephiroth. Without fail, the children in Sephiroth costumes gave their versions of maniacal laughs and taunted the children in Cloud costumes. And then they all picked themselves up after their mock battles and begged for candy from his neighbors and the rest of Midgar.

Cloud spent Halloween locked upstairs in Seventh Heaven, in the attic, which had the mercy of at least not having any windows. It was bad enough that he could hear the revelries from bellow.

Tifa was busy downstairs minding the bar, while Barrett had the kids out trick or treating. It was a familiar routine by now. He flinched as he heard a cry of 'Sephiroth!' from outside, screamed in a ferocious child's voice, full of false rage and fueled by pretend vengeance. Tifa didn't allow the costumes in the bar, fortunately. But ladies did get half off their drinks on Halloween if they dressed up like her, so long as they pretended the cowboy-hat picture had never existed. Needless to say, the party downstairs in Seventh Heaven was already loud and rowdy, and would only get wilder as the night went on.

Cloud stood up off of the mattress he'd brought upstairs with him and wandered through the attic. It was almost completely empty. There were a few extra chairs and bar stools, in case any of Tifa's broke, or were broken. In one corner, the supplies to make new tables in case of bar brawls sat. They'd only had to pull them out once since Seventh Heaven opened, and that had been after the Turks' first visit to the bar. He had to smile at the memory of her forcing the Turks to build her a new table while still in their work suits. She'd even cracked the whip on Tseng.

He ran a hand over a box, checking his fingers and sighing at how dusty they were. This box was his—all of the items he'd gathered from his life before Avalanche. It was amazing, how it all fit into one tiny box. He glanced to the closed door that lead downstairs, then to the bare mattress he'd brought up as all he had to keep him company. Then he turned to the box and opened it slowly. Memories were an unexploded bomb for him. He rarely allowed himself to think back to a time before his current life. With children in the house, he usually didn't dare test his control. But right now, he was alone, isolated, and safe. Besides, it was Halloween. What better time to face a fear.

He hesitated as he unfolded the top, and turned away, grabbing one of the spare chairs and dragging it over to sit beside his memories. On the very top was a photograph in an old frame, the glass a little dirty from disuse. A blonde boy stood next to a smiling woman in a modest dress. He wiped the dirt carefully off from over her face. It was the only image he had of his mother, and she had moved slightly while it was being taken. Her face was as blurry as his memory of her. He was glad to have the picture none the less. It had been a stroke of luck finding it at all. He carefully used the bottom of his knit shirt to wipe off the rest of the dust, and set the picture aside, propping it up against the box in front of him.

There were a lot of useless things in the box, he found. Little things, like random toys that he didn't actually remember, but knew distantly were his. He smiled fondly as he set them around the picture, but it wasn't until he picked up the next frame that he slowed again.

This one was newer than the photograph of his mother. Still dusty, but not too bad. It wasn't a picture, but one of the things the Turks had filed away from his personal belongings after he vanished in Nibelheim. It was a framed napkin, which was silly in and of itself, but the signature it bore made Cloud's chest ache.

_'Want my napkin?' Zack had joked over the dinner table after discovering Cloud the cadet idolized him. 'Here, I'll sign it for you! It'll be worth a lot of money some day!'_

"Not even close," Cloud whispered in response to the memory of his friend, rubbing the edge of the frame. "The frame cost more than your signature would."

He stared down at the scrawled name for a long time. His fingers traced over the letters of Zack's name, as though hoping to take hold of the hand that had written them so long ago. He swallowed heavily, took a deep breath, and set the frame aside, carefully propping it up to face him as well.

The next thing he pulled out was the box Tseng had given him only a year ago. He still hadn't broken the seal. Inside were Aerith's letters to Zack—all of them. The weight of the box always astounded him. The mass of her love, all carefully penned onto the paper she'd probably scrimped and saved for with her meager earnings from selling flowers. She'd kept writing for so long. She had always been like that, though. She loved so deeply, and was so utterly devoted to those she loved. He pet the box gently. He wouldn't open it—not ever—but he was glad he had it instead of the Turks. Glad that the box could sit next to Zack's signature. It was like the buster sword after he moved it into the church—they were just meant to stay together.

There were a couple of odd things below that. He pulled out a pair of training gloves, with holes in them where he'd spent so long training with swords he'd worn through the palms completely. Then an old, tattered magazine with Zack's grinning face on the cover, giving a little salute, with the caption 'Soldier's newest hero?' beneath it. He was extra careful when he set that down. He only had a few more pictures of Zack than he had of his mother, and it was good to see him smiling. So many of his memories of Zack were tinged with pain.

He reached into the box again and paused. It was a long pause. His fingers had touched something smooth, cold, and solid, and he remembered what it was as he touched it. He'd been in such a rush to collect it with no one asking any questions when he saw it among his possessions in the Turk's holding area that he hadn't taken the time to think about it. He drew it out slowly, inhaling deeply as he did so.

It was a simple, dark box. Nothing special by itself, of course. It was what it held that made Cloud's heart beat faster. He opened it slowly, quietly praying they hadn't been broken. Gleaming porcelain was revealed as he lifted the lid, and he let out a soft breath of relief. All three of the Wutaian tea cups inside the box were intact.

He turned them carefully, pointing their simple, elegant designs of trees and flowers upwards. He remembered these. He remembered them vividly. They were from a moment in his past he'd pushed aside for a very long time.

"You kept them," a deep and familiar voice murmured behind him. "Even after all this time."

"They were the only thing I had of the real you," Cloud said softly in answer to the voice which he knew could not be real. He tilted his head slightly, running his fingers over the delicate paintings on the rounded mugs. "The one thing I had to remind me of the man I used to..."

He trailed off for a long moment, searching for the right word.

"Idolize?" the voice behind him offered.

"Something like that," he sighed, "It doesn't matter now. You—the real you—you're long gone."

"Yes," the voice said softly. "May I?"

Cloud didn't get a chance to answer before a slender, softly-glowing hand reached over his shoulder to touch the mugs. He stared down at the hand as it caressed the images, then followed it up the muscular arm attached to it. The arm led him to a broad frame, and gut-wrenchingly familiar silver hair. And yet there was something distant about it all, as real as it was. As far away as Aerith standing in amongst her flowers.

"You're dead," Cloud said softly.

"Very observant of you to notice," Sephiroth responded, tilting his head give Cloud a very faint and very sarcastic smile.

"Really dead this time, right?" Cloud clarified, lifting a hand to curiously touch Sephiroth's very solid-seeming arm.

"Just a memory," Sephiroth replied with a grimace of a smile, straightening from touching the cups and backing away a couple of steps as Cloud rose. "Just as you wished."

There was silence for a moment. Cloud studied the faint glow that Sephiroth seemed to emit, just as Zack and Aerith had, as though he were still bathed in the light of the Lifestream even in his dark attic. He looked unearthly, but not in the sick and alien way he had when they fought. He looked calm and controlled, and carried a quiet solemnity that was very unlike the teasing, taunting villain Cloud remembered.

"It's really you," Cloud said cautiously. "The real you. Right?"

"It is."

"Are you here to tell me I'll be haunted by three spirits or something?" Cloud asked dryly. "I thought that was a Christmas thing."

"You have already been haunted by three spirits," Sephiroth commented calmly. "If you count Aerith and Zack as the first two, I would be the third."

"What do you want from me?" Cloud asked, "Before you went insane—before everything happened—we barely knew each other. I wasn't even as Soldier."

"I have come to apologize," Sephiroth replied, his eyes steady on Cloud as they faced each other. "Which I recognize is many years too late to mean much."

Cloud took a deep breath, staring at the man. He felt he ought to react violently to those words. His every instinct was telling him to rip this man before him to shreds, before this nightmare worsened and Sephiroth changed again and tore him apart.

"I thought it would be useless," Sephiroth said slowly, "but agreed to do as Zack and Aerith asked. As a favor."

"They told you to come?"

"I thought them foolish," the silver-haired man said, shaking his head as his eyes lowered to the set of mugs again, "but you _did_ keep them. So perhaps not so foolish as I thought."

"So is that it, then?" Cloud asked, shifting and straightening as Sephiroth's reptilian eyes returned to him. "Have you done what you came to?"

"Not yet," Sephiroth replied. "Not quite yet."

He shifted and Cloud tensed. Every movement from Sephiroth screamed danger. It always had. Any toss of his head—any redistribution of weight—it was all carefully controlled and measured, and it called out to every piece of Cloud that had become a killer to defeat this man. He widened his feet just a little, letting out a slow breath, prepared to fight to the death once more to protect his family.

Sephiroth watched him shift, then slowly sank downwards. Cloud watched in faint shock as the man slid to one knee before him, his right arm folded over his leg and his left resting lightly on his thigh. He bowed his head slowly, letting his bangs fall in front of his face. Cloud took a half step backwards, rattling one of the picture frames with his heel, but fortunately not breaking it.

"I have wronged you," Sephiroth said softly, his eyes on the floor and his head still bowed, "In every possible way. I have betrayed your trust, and through my negligence and weakness allowed injury and sorrow to befall you. I failed to protect you, as I swore to Zachary and myself I would before we left for Nibelheim. I failed even to die properly and spare you pain. For all of this—for every horror and loss that you have experienced—I apologize, Cloud Strife. I am sorry."

Cloud watched him with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. Silver hair fell in drapes around Sephiroth. He'd once thought that his hair was almost godly. Now it only reminded him of his worst nightmares. There was a whisper in the back of his mind, from the darkest parts of himself, which told him to take advantage of Sephiroth's kneeling position. He was quietly ashamed of the thought. And yet, it wasn't that shame which held him back. It was wondering whether or not the strike would connect with Sephiroth's ghost.

"Stand up," Cloud said softly and firmly. "There's no reason for you to kneel. It won't change anything. Not what you've done, and not what I think."

Sephiroth's eyes lifted first. He fixed his gaze on Cloud, his gaze intense and miserable. Outside children were hollering loudly in glee and pleased screams of fear. Below their feet, Seventh Heaven's murmur was growing into a roar as Tifa's bar grew wilder and busier the later the night ticked on. He stood up slowly, almost stiffly.

"I don't forgive you," Cloud said quietly and darkly once the man was standing. "Not for any of it. I keep these mugs because I remember what you used to be. I keep them to remind myself to stay the Cloud that Tifa and the kids know instead of becoming the monster you tried to make me."

Sephiroth lowered his eyes, and for a moment Cloud almost felt guilty for his words. Sephiroth had been through hell—he knew that—but he couldn't just forgive him. It would be like admitting that he'd failed to save the man Sephiroth had once been.

Something seemed to shift about Sephiroth, and the change drew Cloud out of his thoughts, re-activating his paranoia. The glow began to fade from around the former General's form, and as Cloud watched blood started to drip off the tips of Sephiroth's slender fingers. The tall man tilted his head back slightly, and closed his eyes, a look of pained acceptance crossing his face.

"Goodbye again, then." Sephiroth said softly, his eyes still closed.

Darkness swirled around his feet, springing to life as his blood fell to the floor. The red liquid started to leak from his hair line, sliding down his face in messy streams. His hair twisted behind him, pulling back sharply as the roiling blackness twisted upwards and tangled in his silver locks. His hands twitched, and the darkness reached up to wrap around them as well, shackling him. His head was pulled back, and the snarl that crossed his lips was of pain, not anger.

"What the hell," Cloud whispered as the darkness started to drag Sephiroth downwards.

Bright green eyes slid open, surrounded by the blood now seeming to gush from him. He opened his mouth to reply, but the darkness wrapped around his lips as well, cutting off his words. He closed his eyes again, and seemed to surrender himself to being dragged downwards.

"Take it back," Zack's voice echoed around him, desperate though it was only a whisper. "Take it back, Cloud! Please, you don't have to forgive him, just say you need time to think! Take it back!"

"But I-"

"Cloud," Aerith's voice whispered in his other ear. "Please."

Cloud's eyes returned to the face of the man slowly sinking into the floor. Sephiroth's eyes opened slowly, meeting his a final time as his legs vanished completely into the darkness, still sinking further and further. Memory swept over him.

_"You like them?" Sephiroth asked quietly, stepping up behind Cloud._

_ "I've never seen anything like them, sir." Cloud replied softly, staring at the delicate mugs his General had served him and Zack tea in._

_ "They're pretty cool, huh," Zack grinned, taking a drink out of his own._

_ "Are they from Wutai?" Cloud asked softly, running his fingers lightly over the smooth surface._

_ "They are," Sephiroth replied, though he did not expand upon it. "I am glad they please you."_

_ Cloud had come home the next day to a simple box sitting on his bed, which held nothing but the three cups, carefully settled in velvet, and a note that said 'since you liked them.' He'd been certain from that moment on that Sephiroth was a person he could follow anywhere—that if he ever managed to become as close to the General as Zack was, he could count himself as one of the luckiest men on Gaia. He'd treasured the gift above all his other items, and practically enshrined it in his small drawer __of possessions in the barracks._

"Wait," Cloud said softly. "Wait."

Everything seemed to freeze. Sephiroth's descent slowed. The darkness wrapped around Cloud's former hero roiled in annoyance, squeezing him in agitation. The pressure drew a wince and an annoyed look from the ghost.

"I can't forgive or not forgive him," Cloud said, shaking his head, his voice shaking just a little, not sure who, exactly, he was addressing. "I barely even knew him before he went insane. I can't be in control of—of whatever this is."

"You must decide," a voice that was neither Zack's, Aerith's, or Sephiroth's murmured in his ear. "Does he remain, or does he vanish, Cloud?"

"I don't know," Cloud whispered. Something about the voice was achingly familiar, and utterly trustworthy. He didn't even think to doubt it. He stared down at Sephiroth's blood-stained face. "I don't know enough about him. I don't know _anything_ about him."

"Very well, then," the voice murmured after a moment. "You will learn. And then you will make your decision."

"Wait," Cloud snapped as he felt the presence leave the room.

Sephiroth was dragged out of the floor and dropped in an unceremonious heap, bloody and shaking. He lay as still as death for a moment, then dragged in a breath. That single breath chilled Cloud to the bone. It wasn't a sound a ghost made. He took a half-step back, looking down at the silver-haired man collapsed on his floor. Sephiroth shifted, pressing a hand to the floor as he began to rise, before freezing, staring at his fingers.

"I _feel_ that," he rasped.

His voice was no longer clear and warm, but low and raspy and very real. His eyes widened in surprise at hearing himself. Cloud stared as the glow faded from around him. His Mako enhanced hearing picked up the thunder of a heartbeat speeding up coming from the man before him. Sephiroth broke out in a cold sweat.

"I'm alive," He whispered. "What—What have they done?"

"Cloud?" Tifa called from the door, stepping inside the attic, "Things are starting to—Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company." She smiled warmly at Sephiroth, nodding to him with a complete lack of recognition in her eyes. "Sorry to interrupt!"

Cloud stared at the door as she closed it quickly. He didn't even think to correct her or stop her from going. A slow sneaking suspicion was building in his head. He walked over slowly to Sephiroth, bending and inspecting his eyes. Sephiroth didn't look at him, breathing hard and shaking on the floor, obviously re-adjusting to being a live. His eyes were still inhuman, but they lacked their Mako glow. He was definitely alive, but at the same time it was clear that he was not himself.

Cloud realized, after a moment of stunned silence, that Sephiroth was looking at something fixedly. There was something akin to horror in his gaze. Cloud followed that look, his eyes landing on the framed picture of Zack's signature. The black matting beneath the glass frame was almost mirror-like. Reflected in its surface, Cloud saw himself, crouching and looking into the frame with bright blue eyes. But the collapsed figure on the floor before him reflected as someone completely different—a brown-haired man with unimpressive features and what looked to be a smattering of freckles.

Cloud flicked his gaze from Sephiroth to his reflection and back. The silver-haired former General looked up at him in shock, still as striking as he had always been to Cloud's eyes. Sephiroth gave a shaking wheeze of breath, incapable of forming words in light of the shock of being resurrected as someone completely different. Cloud understood the sentiment behind the failed whisper, and returned it in a whisper of his own.

"Holy shit."


	2. Coping

**A/N:** Terribly sorry... It seems I have difficulty writing one shots. If I decide to continue them, they always take forever to update! I hope you all enjoy the continuation of this strange little Sephiroth/Cloud story... We're still in the build-up to the horror. Forgive the interrum chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own this franchise. Please remember to support the official releases!

**Chapter 2**

Cloud always helped clean up the bar when he was at home. It was a routine he didn't skip out on, no matter how rough his last delivery had been, or how down he was feeling. He might have, but he found that both he and Tifa were happier if he helped. If he saw her come upstairs without having helped her clean up, he would have felt horrible. And for her part, some days it was the only time she got to spend with him.

The evening of Halloween was no different. Though this year she didn't call him downstairs—he just took it upon himself once the screams and hollers from downstairs had died down into nothing and there remained nothing but the quiet clink of someone picking up glasses off of tables. He didn't glance back as he left the room.

The downstairs was a disaster. There were pieces of costumes on the floor, and it seemed that more than one of the revelers had overindulged. There was even a broken chair. Cloud sighed and walked forward, starting to pick up the larger marks of destruction.

"Cloud?" Tifa asked, eyeing him carefully. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Tifa," Cloud muttered, lifting the first of the chairs and flipping it up onto the table to get it out of his way for cleaning.

"And your boyfriend?" Tifa asked with a teasing smile and a knowing tilt of her head.

Cloud twitched, then shivered. He shook his head silently, casting her a 'please not now' look. He only relaxed when she sighed and went back to her work. She cleaned out glasses swiftly and thoroughly, stacking them in little towers on the towel she'd spread over the bar.

"He's cute," she commented after a moment.

"Tifa," Cloud scolded with a little frown.

"Sorry, sorry," Tifa said with a smile. "I'll let you keep your private life private. I'm just happy to know you _have_ a private life. I was starting to worry about you."

"Let's just clean up and get some sleep," Cloud muttered. "I need to think straight before I go into this with you..."

"Alright, then," Tifa said with a nod. "You keep it up. I'm going to touch base with Barrett and see how the kids did tonight. I'm so glad he keeps them on Halloweens. I don't know how I'd manage without daddy around to look after the kids now and then!"

Cloud gave her the little smile he knew she wanted, and watched as she walked out of the room, pulling out her PHS as she went. Then he returned his eyes to the messy floor, moving slowly to fetch a broom, tossing dish towels over the soggier messes.

He stopped in the middle of the floor a moment later, holding the broom and staring down at a bunch of chip crumbs on the ground. What was he doing? What in the _hell_ was he doing? He was sweeping the floor, obviously. But he was sweeping the floor while Sephiroth was...

Why had he asked the goddess to wait? Because Zack had asked him to? Because Sephiroth had looked so sad? What did he care if the man who had destroyed his entire world got eaten by the darkness? He should have let him, he thought to himself, tightening his grip on the broom. He should have watched Sephiroth vanish again and _reveled_ in it. But then, he never had reveled in Sephiroth being hurt. Not even after he killed Aerith.

The thought made his hands tighten automatically, and the broom splintered and broke in his hands, falling in pieces, leaving him holding nothing but splinters. He sighed and went back to the broom closet, pulling out one of the backups. It was an unfortunately common event.

It didn't matter, he told himself after a moment. How he had gotten to this point couldn't matter. It was all about what he did from here. He had a Sephiroth upstairs, who didn't look like Sephiroth. Tifa thought he had a new boyfriend, who just so happened to be his mortal enemy in a disguise that was not of his own making. But it was obvious that Sephiroth had no powers. Cloud had grabbed his arm briefly, and nearly snapped it before realizing that he had to tone it down. The bruise had already been livid when he came downstairs to clean.

It could have been a trick, he supposed, but Sephiroth had never really been one for tricks. Traps, certainly, and mental control in his darkest, cruelest moments, but not emotional manipulation. You had to understand emotion for that to be possible, and though Sephiroth knew many things, Cloud was well aware that the once-great-general had been terrible at them even before he went insane. The memories he carried from Zack were enough to tell him that.

And the pain in his eyes had been honest, though he hadn't made a sound. Cloud had watched his teeth clench and grind—his back arch—his eyes tighten at the corner and brighten in pain before closing in resignation...

"Cloud!"

Tifa's voice was not her usual half-worried questioning address. It was the tone of voice that reminded him of the woman who'd planned the destruction of reactors and killed those who got in her way. Cloud felt himself tense up defensively. He turned his eyes to the doorway, listening to her footsteps thunder closer. The moment she stepped into the room, he knew he was in deep shit. It was an absolute and instant gut-instinct. He could save the world, destroy Sephiroth, become strong enough that not even a train derailing or a bullet to the head was likely to kill him, but there was no time in his life he would ever not be afraid of the look on Tifa's face right then.

"We live in a house with children," Tifa snapped, ferociously.

"I know," Cloud said slowly, stepping back from his cleaning, to a less cluttered place, just in case he needed to run. He never had, but he always worried.

"Children who, though they are away right now, have keys to this house and often wander around without supervision."

"Yes Tifa," Cloud said slowly.

"And as happy as I am that you are finally expressing your preferences and getting out in the world, it is NOT a house where you can leave your boyfriend tied up in the attic for long periods of time!"

Cloud's face heated. The rush in his ears overwhelmed the next few things that left Tifa's mouth. She'd gone up to the attic. The word 'shit' ran through his mind at least seven times before he caught up to what she was saying.

"I understand that it's a perfectly legitimate thing to be interested in," Tifa was saying swiftly, "and goddess knows I'm happy that you've finally found someone, but-"

"Tifa," Cloud said, feeling his brows twist desperately. "Please don't say anything else."

"Go untie him," Tifa ordered, pointing to the door that would lead Cloud back towards the attic. "And next time stay at his place for whatever games you want to play. Got it? And bring him by for dinner next time, don't just tie him up in the attic without introducing me!"

"Sorry Tifa," Cloud rasped, amazed that his voice caught at all and he didn't just wheeze in shock.

If he moved a little faster than his usual walk towards the attic, it was not because he was eager to get there. He was eager to escape from the knowing look in Tifa's eyes that was so wrong on so many levels that she couldn't possibly understand. Her ire was definitely roused. He really ought to learn to plan ahead. He missed having Vincent around to advise him on his next move.

He slowed when he stepped into the attic. He was instantly pinned by a fierce and accusatory glance from the corner where he'd left his unexpected visitor. Sephiroth's eyes were fierce green, even without the blaze of mako backing them up. His furious look was softened by the binds holding his hands behind his back and his feet together. He made not a sound, but Cloud was willing to bet that had more to do with the tight gag between his lips than anything.

The man hadn't fought when Cloud tied him up. He hadn't moved since catching sight of the strange reflection in the glass of Zack's signature. He hadn't struggled at all until Cloud tightened the gag in his mouth and rose an grunt of objection from the otherwise stone-still man. He'd left him there without thought. He'd needed to get his head on straight. Looking at the monster tied up in the corner and glaring with those inhuman eyes that Cloud hated so much from behind slightly messy silver bangs, Cloud knew it had been pointless. None of the panic that suffused his entire being had subsided during his absence. And yet, he was out of time to calm down. He moved over slowly.

Cloud removed the gag from Sephiroth's mouth as quickly as he could, trying not to touch his skin any more than he had to.

Sephiroth's lips pulled back briefly, but he said nothing. He just stretched his jaw. Cloud looked with interest at the reddened corners of Sephiroth's mouth. A disturbingly human mark, he thought to himself. Not one a super soldier would have.

"Your girlfriend was very distressed." Sephiroth rasped once he had finished shifting his sore mouth around.

"Why are you here?" Cloud hissed darkly through clenched teeth, not letting himself object to having Tifa called his girlfriend. He tried to remind himself that he didn't care what this man though of him.

"I came to ask your forgiveness as I said." Sephiroth replied. Whatever strange panic had overcome him before had vanished without a trace, but his voice was still raspy and damaged. "Why I have not vanished, I do not know. That was your doing."

The words were followed by a dry, ragged cough. Sephiroth turned his head till the fit passed, unable to cover his mouth with the hands bound behind his back. When he turned back, his expression was passive, but his cheeks held a tinge of pink. Cloud was alarmed to realize that it was because of the cough. It was such a disturbingly human reaction. He shifted a little closer, looking Sephiroth over, not letting himself look at those reptilian eyes.

His bound fingertips were blue from lack of circulation. His breath rasped through his lips. The blood that had poured from his non-physical form had vanished, leaving no trace, but he was shaking. Cloud watched the subtle, subconscious twitches of his fingers with foggy, detached interest.

"Cloud," Sephiroth started.

"Don't call me that," Cloud hissed, meeting Sephiroth's eyes as his disinterest faded in the wake of a cold fury. The memory of lips curled in a mocking smile purring his name rose to choke him.

The general hesitated, considering. Cloud watched as his eyes unfocused and refocused again, as though if he looked at Cloud correctly he would make sense.

"Strife," he said after a long while, waiting a moment to see if that would be acceptable. He continued when Cloud didn't comment. "Why did you change your mind?"

"Because Zack and Aerith asked me to," Cloud answered without hesitation, his teeth still tightly clamped together. "And if I had known that would mean you staying here-"

"You would not have done it," Sephiroth said his voice grim. "I know. But I am here now, and if I am not mistaken, I am human."

"Not just human," Cloud muttered. "Tifa can't see you. Not for what you really are."

"I noticed." Sephiroth said mildly. "She had quite a little rant when she dropped by."

"You talked to her?" Cloud snapped, snarling at him.

"Mostly she talked," Sephiroth corrected with a shrug that made his blood-deprived fingers twitch. "But she did unbind my mouth to question whether my captivity was 'consensual.' I told her it was, though I fear that it led to some confusion regarding your relationship to me. I apologize if it caused her to doubt your fidelity, but she replaced the gag before I could clarify."

"Good thing," Cloud muttered, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "Better that she think I'm into this," he gestured inarticulately at Sephiroth "than that I'm kidnapping crazy people off the street."

"What will you do now?" Sephiroth asked after a moment of silence.

"Don't move," Cloud ordered, gritting his teeth.

Sephiroth held very still, but Cloud still barely refrained from losing it as he had to touch the man's hair to undo the binds on his wrists. He felt a brief twinge of guilt as he saw how deeply the rope had pressed into Sephiroth's skin.

Sephiroth waited until Cloud had backed away again to slowly pull his arms around from behind his back. His face stayed passive, but Cloud knew on a visceral level that the motion would hurt after more than an hour of being bound.

'Good,' a part of him thought as he watched his mortal enemy rub his wrists with numb hands. 'He deserves to suffer for what he's done.'

Cloud thought of the darkness that had risen from the floor to entrap the general. Had that been the punishment the man deserved, waiting to claim him? He shook the thought from his head. Zack wanted him to try, and more importantly Aerith did. So Cloud would try.

"You can't stay here," Cloud muttered to himself. "I'm not letting you anywhere near the kids."

"Good," rasped Sephiroth. "I dislike children."

"Pretty sure the feeling is mutual," Cloud muttered. "Untie your legs. We're going to the church."

"Ironic," Sephiroth commented, his numb, shaking fingers fumbling with the knot Cloud had used to bind his feet.

"Why are you shaking?" Cloud demanded at last, annoyed by the persistent sign of weakness.

"I am cold," Sephiroth replied blankly, not lifting his eyes from the knot. "It is October, I am not enhanced, and whatever deity or devil chose to drop me here decided to forego a jacket."

Even the piece of his mind that had been silently screaming 'kill him' every moment Cloud was with Sephiroth went quiet for a moment. The ex-general seemed unperturbed, but now that Cloud looked for it, he could tell that the man was freezing. He'd been so stuck looking at that hated hair and his monster eyes that he hadn't noticed the baggy pants and t-shirt with a button down dress top pulled over it. Three quarter sleeves displayed the deep purple bruise on his forearm where Cloud had gripped too hard. A part of him found the image hilarious. But most of him felt a little sick. He didn't object in theory to hurting Sephiroth, but he hadn't intended to. He swallowed, considering, then spoke softly.

"Don't go anywhere."

"Unlikely," Sephiroth commented, gesturing to the knot that he'd made no headway in with fingers that were still blue-tipped and twitching.

Cloud left the attic quickly, closing the door behind himself. He slipped into his room as quietly as he could. The last thing he needed was to run into Tifa right now. He knew on a visceral level that he should tell her exactly who it was in her attic. Hells, being Tifa, she might even actually believe him. She had stuck by his side through stranger mental crisis, and crazier events. She'd never turned her back on him. Not even when he'd handed the black materia over to...

To the man who was currently unsupervised in his attic. Cloud looked down at his hands, feeling panic blossom from nowhere. Would he know if he was being puppeted? He didn't feel like it had felt before, but then it had always been things he knew instinctively were WRONG that Sephiroth and Jenova tried to force him to. Killing Aerith, surrendering the black materia—those had been obviously evil, and he had fought them as hard as he could. But this?

He lifted the jacket he'd come for in the first place, looking down at the fabric with a faint frown. It certainly seemed like the right thing to do. Sephiroth was his prisoner, after a sort. Or his charity case. Either way, it wouldn't be right for Cloud to let him suffer.

He shifted the single sleeve over his left arm and frowned faintly at it. He couldn't tell how cold it would feel to be unenhanced in this weather. Tifa walked around in short sleeves even at this time of year, though usually only when she was working. And after all, cold air sank and warm air rose. Shouldn't it have been warmer in the attic than anywhere.

Cloud hesitated, memory flashing through his mind. A man scoffing behind cold, shining glasses rose unbidden in his mind.

_"Silly boy," the scientist scoffed. "Someone with as much mako and J-cells as you have—it __would take far more than this to break you."_

Cloud shuddered as hard as he could, trying to shake off the memory with the movement. He picked up the jacket, and after a moment of thought grabbed the nicely crocheted hat that Tifa had gifted him for when he wanted to be anonymous in a crowd. It was warm, at least. Though he couldn't shake the feeling that Sephiroth wearing a hat would be officially the strangest thing he had seen thus far in his life, even with all of the magic, and gods, and miracles he had witnessed.

When he returned upstairs, it was to find Sephiroth still doggedly picking at the tight knot, wearing it down with sheer persistence. The silver-haired once-general didn't even look up from what he was doing. Cloud clenched his jaw briefly, then tossed the coat at him. He had to hold back a laugh when it simply landed over Sephiroth's head, his prisoner's reflexes not fast enough to catch it. The little jolt of surprise he gave was deeply entertaining.

"Put that on," Cloud instructed firmly. "We're heading out for the night."

"Very well," Sephiroth said, his voice still raspy but calm, even as he ducked out from under the jacket to slide his arms into the sleeves. They were hardly longer on him than the three-quarter sleeves of his dress shirt, and the front would not close over his broad chest, but it was better than nothing. "However, unless you would like to carry me, I believe you shall have to undo this knot."

Cloud tightened his jaw. "If you kick me, I'm going to throw you out a window. And I don't think you'll survive it."

"Threat noted," Sephiroth rasped dryly.

Cloud untied his legs without ceremony, and stood back. Sephiroth didn't move at first. His legs straightened slowly, and he flexed his feet. He was wearing sneakers. Cloud had to look away. It was too bizarre. He averted his gaze to the outdoors, through the small circular window that was the only portal to outside from where he was. He usually kept it covered. He shifted the curtains to glance around.

It was late now. Only a few straggling trick or treaters were out and about. It had to be past three in the morning, because that was when Tifa closed up on holidays. Still, Cloud saw a few teenagers slipping through the streets with mischief in their minds. He caught sight of one of them, smacking gum with a mock Tsurugi slung over his shoulder and a lop-sided blonde wig. He pulled away from the window swiftly and looked to Sephiroth.

"Get up," he said swiftly.

"I don't know how long it has been since you were bound for a long period of time," Sephiroth said dryly, "but it is not the easiest or most comfortable thing. I recognize that you are not used to keeping prisoners. If I could recommend allowing me a drink and a moment to recover, I think you would find I would suddenly become more able to obey."

Cloud clenched his jaw tighter, feeling his teeth grind and watching Sephiroth. He was met by a blank stare, almost suspiciously empty of malice. After a moment of holding his gaze, Cloud sighed.

"Fine. Take your moment. You can drink something downstairs before we go."

"Many thanks," Sephiroth drawled with what Cloud was certain had to be sarcasm.

"I didn't ask for this you know," Cloud hissed. "You are terrible at staying dead."

"Or perhaps you are just bad at killing me," the man said darkly in return, a significant wheeze underlaying the words.

"Up now or I'm dragging you downstairs," Cloud snapped in return, his patience taxed by Sephiroth's fierce attitude.

He watched as the man leaned forward slowly, as though deeply stiff. His hand pressed against the floor as he slowly rose to his full height, staggering to the side to lean against the wall. His face was still blank of emotion, but Cloud heard his breath hitch, and watched his hands flicker, as though looking for his blade. No weapon appeared for him. Cloud shifted back and opened the attic door, waiting expectantly, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and disquiet.

Halfway down the stairs, Sephiroth's legs gave out, and Cloud moved without thinking. One hand grasped the man's belt and an unfortunate amount of hair while he yanked him back and shifted in front to brace him. Sephiroth choked at the touch, and Cloud himself froze up as the general's weight landed on his shoulder. He was heavy. He was warm. For just a moment, his enhanced senses allowed Cloud to intimately hear Sephiroth's heartbeat thundering, his breath rasping, his clothes shifting over his skin. Then he was pulling back, shoving Sephiroth into the wall where he leaned limply against the railing.

"Is everything _okay_ up there?" Tifa called upstairs with a fierce note in her voice.

"Fine, Tifa," Cloud called back instantly, his eyes not leaving Sephiroth's.

"You are very bad at killing me," Sephiroth whispered after a moment of catching his breath.

"If you fall again, I'm letting you split your head open," Cloud snarled, moving swiftly the rest of the way downstairs.

Despite his words, he still waited at the base of the staircase for Sephiroth, ensuring he didn't really spill his brains on Tifa's floor. He told himself it was to keep Tifa safe and happy. He wasn't sure that was entirely true.

He led the man into the blissfully empty bar, slipped behind the counter, and filled a tall glass of water, slamming it down on the bar with just a little too much force. That he managed not to break it was more from luck than attention. Still, Sephiroth didn't seem to mind the reluctance with which it was given. He lifted it in shaking hands and drank deeply, as though he had been thirsting for days. Cloud watched him closely, even as the man set the nearly empty glass down, drawing in a deep breath.

"Your special for tonight is interesting," he muttered, gazing at the wall behind Cloud.

Cloud glanced back and sighed at the flowery description of 'The Sephiroth Slayer,' which was a variation on his favorite drink on the rare occasions he indulged. He shook his head and turned away, frowning deeply. He knew Tifa would have just forgotten to take it down. Outwardly she supported his reluctance to revel in his role in Sephiroth's demise. But he knew that she, like most of the others, would never understand why he didn't wish to celebrate that victory. She was happy he had killed Sephiroth, and more than willing to celebrate it with the populace when Cloud wasn't there to be upset by it.

"It's popular on Halloween," Cloud muttered.

"Halloween," Sephiroth said with a dry laugh, lifting his water again. "Pointless."

"Tifa," Cloud called over his shoulder. "I'm going to steal the truck for the night, okay? I'll bring it back in the morning."

"Don't run over any kids!" Tifa yelled, before peering into the room and giving a warm, affectionate smile towards them both. "And for the love of the goddess, Cloud, introduce me to your boyfriend next time _before_ you tie him up in my attic."

"Yes, Tifa," Cloud muttered, not bothering to argue. It was almost worth it when he saw the affronted, bewildered expression on Sephiroth's face.

"She does not fear me," Sephiroth whispered as Cloud gestured for him to follow outside.

"Of course not," Cloud scoffed. "You look like any semi-good-looking construction worker off the street. You look like the guy who runs the butcher shop down the road. You did see your reflection, right?"

"Yes," Sephiroth said slowly and darkly. "It is strange. I have never been looked at like that before. Except for-"

"I don't care." Cloud interrupted sharply, opening the truck swiftly and firmly. "Get in the damn truck. I'm taking you to the Church. Then I'll figure out what to do with you."

He had a feeling it would not be as easy as he had hoped. He hesitated a moment, then pulled the crocheted hat out of his pocket and tossed on the once-again-shivering Sephiroth's lap.

"Put on your hat," Cloud muttered as he gunned the truck. "It's not a heated church."

"Joy," Sephiroth said darkly, shoving the crocheted hat on his head with a little more force than was necessary. "What a delightful revelation."

Cloud was very, very glad when Sephiroth didn't attempt to continue anything like a conversation after that as they drove through the city of Edge. It was a quiet drive, and almost entirely free of late-night revelers. The streets were nearly empty. And yet, Cloud could not shake the feeling of something following him.

* * *

**How to make 'The Sephiroth Slayer'**  
Take two ounces of Vodka, one fourth of an ounce of lemon juice, half an ounce of Hpnotiq liqueur, and one ounce of white cranberry juice. Combine in an ice filled shaker, shake hard, and pour into a glass, excluding the ice. Your drink will come out a beautiful mako blue.


End file.
